“I don’t understand,” Olivia said.
“Your first question—the one about walking into hell—is not designed to open a dialogue.”
“I don’t want a dialogue, I want an answer. After I get the right answer we can start a dialogue.”
“The thing is, a question like yours is pretty much guaranteed to send a prospective date running for the hills—or, in this case, the restroom,” Elly said patiently. “It’s not a normal opening to a conversation with a stranger. It’s an unsubtle way of demanding a commitment before you even know the guy’s last name.”
“I’m trying to be efficient,” Olivia said. “There’s no point wasting time on someone who doesn’t give the right answer.”
“Has it occurred to you that a man who gives you the answer you think you want might turn out to be a little strange?”
“How?”
“Obsessive?” Elly suggested.
“The agency claims they run background checks on all their clients.”
“Obsessive personalities are not easy to detect in a standard background check. Case in point, the Speed Date Killer. You must have seen the news. He used agencies like this one to hunt for targets.”
“Way to send a few chills down my spine.”
“Sorry. Just trying to make my point.”
Olivia drummed her blue nails on the table while she considered the criticism. “You’re right. I need to be more strategic.”
“That would be my advice.”
The bell chimed. There was a moment or two of noise and commotion as each man moved on to the next table. Most of the women made notes. Olivia went back to the cat adoption page and took another look at Joe while she waited for her next date.
She was reminding herself that adopting a cat was a huge responsibility when a sudden shock of awareness raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Adrenaline jolted through her, kicking up her pulse and her other senses. She recognized the all-too-familiar fight-or-flight response.
She caught her breath and looked up in time to watch her new date lower himself into the seat across from her. The man moved as if he was half leopard. It was both intriguing and unnerving. If she had been walking down the street and he had leaped out of a dark alley she would not have been able to move fast enough to escape.
She registered the heat and power in his aura. Monster. He wasn’t the first one she had encountered. Her best friend and business partner, Catalina, had recently married a man with an aura that, technically speaking, qualified as a monster talent. Slater Arganbright. When you got involved with the Foundation you learned that when it came to monsters there were nuances. Serious nuances.
The dark-haired monster with the blazing aura watched her with the eyes of a man who wrestled demons on a nightly basis. Scary? Yes, under the right circumstances. But she had recently discovered she could be more than a little scary herself.
His gaze shifted to her phone. She realized he could see Joe. Hastily she turned off the tech and dropped it into her handbag. Resting one hand protectively on the bag as if trying to conceal a secret, she examined her date more closely.
His name tag read John.
Pity about his style, or lack thereof. John looked as if he was deliberately trying to fade into the woodwork. The dark gray suit with its white shirt and narrow, navy blue tie were so ordinary and so un-Seattle that he actually stood out in a room filled with men dressed in various versions of the Pacific Northwest gear look—a casual mash-up of jeans, sneakers, black pullovers and backpacks. His hair was cut short and neatly parted on the side. He wore a pair of black-framed glasses.
Everything about him shouted ordinary, boring, nonthreatening. He reminded her of the sign posted on the outskirts of her hometown, Fogg Lake: Welcome to Fogg Lake. Nothing to See Here. And just as with Fogg Lake, there were a lot of secrets under the surface.
Her new date was the most interesting man in the room.
She took a deep breath and lowered her talent so that she was no longer distracted by his fascinating aura. She did not want to scare off this date. She had to open a dialogue. She knew how to do this. She interviewed nervous clients every day at Lark & LeClair.
“Hi,” she said, trying for flirty and charming. Nonthreatening. Her inner voice was shrieking, Don’t screw up. “My name is Olivia and my question—”
“The answer is yes,” John the monster said. “If you disappeared I would walk into hell to find you. I know the way. I’ve been there.”
CHAPTER 5
Olivia stared at him. “Who are you?”
It was clear she was beyond startled or surprised. She was disoriented. Shaken. Stunned. What Harlan did not understand was why he was feeling some very similar sensations. Sure, it had been a long day. A long week. A long five years. Still. No excuses. He had spent a lot of time and effort learning the discipline of self-control.
He reminded himself he could not afford to lose focus. He leaned forward and lowered his voice so that he would not be overheard.
“My name isn’t John,” Harlan said. “I just grabbed the name tag of someone who apparently did not show up tonight. I’m Harlan Rancourt. I believe you’re expecting me.”
The stunned expression vanished from her amazing eyes. She pulled herself together in a heartbeat.
“Well, crap,” she said.
“I get that a lot.”
She slid out of the booth and reached back for her handbag and coat. “Let’s go. Tonight has been a waste of time. Might as well do some work.”
He rose and prepared to follow her. The woman seated in the neighboring booth gave Olivia a small knowing smile. What the hell was that about? he wondered.
There was no time to analyze the situation. Olivia was on her way to the front of the restaurant, moving fast. He hurried to catch up with her.
Okay, he had not expected a joyous welcome—he was well aware the Rancourt name was anathema to many of those currently connected to the Foundation. His father’s old loyalists had been kicked out or otherwise sidelined, and there were probably more than a few of Stenson’s enemies deeply embedded in the organization. Nevertheless, for some inexplicable reason he was jolted by Olivia LeClair’s lack of warmth.
Focus, man. You’ve got a job to do. You’re not here to get laid.
Maybe that was the problem. It had been a long time since he’d been involved in a sexual relationship. Vortex had taken over his life in the past few months. But he would be willing to allow an interruption to his monastic routine for Olivia. He had been studying her from afar for the past few weeks, researching her online, pulling what information he could from the Rancourt files.